I Can Hear My Heartbeat
by sansone
Summary: Gibbs doesn't show up for work one day. Set in late season 2, pre-Twilight. Hurt/comfort Kibbs.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:I don't own these characters. Sadly, they belong to some other people.

AN: There's another chapter to this story, which I'll post in a few days. Enjoy! Also, thanks for the likes/follows/reviews on my other two stories. Feedback in any shape or form is much appreciated! :)

* * *

**Thursday, 0830:**

Silence has fallen over the NCIS headquarters in Washington, DC. Not even the scribbling of reports or the incessant _tap tap tap_ of typing suspects' names in NCIC perturbs the status quo. No one is at their desk, not even Kate, especially not Tony. Gibbs? Gibbs is like the Queen of England that way. He is never late; it's just that other people are early.

**Thursday, 0930:**

"You have got to be kidding me," Kate murmurs, out of breath, fingers running over a blank page. Her morning had gone terribly wrong. After realizing that her sketchbook was missing and turning her entire apartment on its head, she had rushed to work only to find it on her desk, with a sharpened pencil by its side.

"You're welcome, Kate," Tony grins from the opposite desk.

Her eyes snap up at him, but only for the duration before another thought strikes her. A chill runs down her spine as she leafs through the sketchbook, but there is nothing there. All her sketches are gone.

"Tony!" and with that she is standing in front of him, ready to engage in yet another screaming match.

"Yes, Kate?" he asks, an innocence that is fooling no one, seeping through his silky murmur.

"Where is it?"

"What? Where is what, Kate?"

"You know what, Tony. Just – give it to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Kate."

"Tony! My sketchbook, give it to me, okay?"

For the short span of this conversation, her anger has turned to desperation because she knows he has it and that's Tony. Unless she wants to find copies of her sketches posted on the public message boards around the office, she needs to stand her ground.

"There you go, Katie. All you needed to do was ask," he smirks, handing her the desired object. Feverishly, she opens the sketchbook, _just making sure_, going through every page until there are none left and –

"Oh, by the way, I needed paper, so I took some pages out. Hope you don't mind. Bought you another one," he is grinning again, pointing at the sketchbook she had found on her desk earlier.

With a shake of her head, she goes back to her place, finally starting to work on that report for Gibbs.

**Thursday, 1100:**

"There you go, boss. My report is _ready_," Tony announces smugly, much to Kate's annoyance, who is finishing off her work.

As he walks to Gibbs' desk, his eyes are on the paper, still on the lookout for errors, and it doesn't strike him as unusual when he doesn't get a reply. Because that's Gibbs – you get a crooked smile, a casual slap, and only on occasion, a verbal response. To his surprise, though, once his gaze finally extends to Gibbs' workspace, there is no one there. _Imagine that._ Absorbed in his work and in the frequent glances at a certain magazine, Tony – just like the others in the room – hadn't noticed that Gibbs was absent.

"Hey, Kate. Guess what –"urges Tony, aware that he is a disturbance, yet decidedly invades her personal space, hovering over her head.

"I'm working, Tony," Kate objects, knowing that it's probably in vain. Reasoning with Tony is like reasoning with a 5-year old. "No" is not an answer and her growing irritation is proportional to his persistence.

"No fun, Kate," he murmurs with a feigned sigh to top his disappointment. Yet, he continues soon after,

"Okay, I'll tell you. Gibbs is late. Can you believe that?"

"He's probably in a meeting, Tony, I wouldn't – "

"Of course you wouldn't assume anything, Kate. You never do, but I am telling you, _he's late. _Hope he's getting coffee. We don't want him here if he's not had his morning dose yet. We really don't, Kate. Grumpy Gibbs, nuh-uh. It's like in that 70s movie where the main character kills off his colleagues 'cause –"

Having noticed Kate's stare, panic settles over Tony. _He is behind me, isn't he? _he mouths to Kate, who giggles in response, an utter affirmation of his fear. With a grin that could turn milk to honey, he turns to meet his fate, but in the subsequent instant his smile drops. Gibbs is not there.

"What, Tony? Was that not fun?"

Kate barely contains her laughter as she walks past him to leave her report on Gibbs' desk.

**Thursday 1230:**

With no one to bark orders at them, Tony and Kate have fallen into a 'blissful' state of boredom: Tony, throwing bits of food in the air and trying to catch them, unsuccessfully, and Kate, rolling her eyes at him, in the meantime tapping her fingers on the desk to a set rhythm. McGee, on the other hand, is still – like always – cracking some code. Kate wouldn't admit it, but she is a little worried. Gibbs' absence is inexplicable, if not plain shocking. By this point, they should have received a call, a message, _anything._

"Hey, guys. Where is Gibbs?"

Abby's question has caught their attention, yet it hangs in the air for a moment.

"He's not here," McGee answers, _finally_, casting a glance at her over his computer screen.

"I can see that, McGee. So…where is he?"

"We don't know, Abby. He didn't show up this morning."

The minute Kate hears her own words she realizes how naïve it all sounds. They should have just called him. But while everything else is a competition, getting to call Gibbs wouldn't score them any points. In fact, it might only disturb his contentment, which is never a good thing.

"Didn't show up? I need him, Kate! Call him. Now!"

_And we were missing Gibbs, _Tony thinks, while Kate raises an eyebrow at Abby's unusual crankiness. McGee is quick to whisper an explanation, "No Caf Pow for her today."

"McGee! I can hear you. Anyway, one of you – call him! Tell him to come downstairs ASAP. Turns out we have the wrong guy. You see, in identical twins, fingerprints are 96% alike. When I lifted of the prints, they produced a match in AFIS with a 95% certainty, but after DNA analysis – "

"Abby? We'll call him," Tony interrupts her, _almost_ regretting it, though, when he meets her glare through squinted eyes.

"Fine. I'll tell _Gibbs_."

With this, Abby goes back to the lab, leaving three special agents, determined not to pull the short straw, if they can help it.

"You call him, Tony."

"No, you call him, Kate."

"But he already doesn't like you."

"Ha-ha. Funny, Kate."

"So, you're calling him?"

"No. Probie, call the boss. NOW."

"Oh, no, Tony. Abby wants me to help her – you saw how she is today – I don't wanna piss her off even more."

McGee can't afford to wait for Tony's response – he'll sure pay for that later – and he only mumbles a set of _Sorry_s before heading for the elevator.

"It's you and me, Kate. Just you and me."

"You and _I, _Tony," Kate retorts, a smirk on her face. "I say, you call him."

"Ah, Kate. Remember how I said I deleted that _precious _photo of yours." A dramatic pause, though Kate can feel what's coming up next, and it feels like a knot in her stomach, which is bound to grow even tighter. "Well, I didn't."

She struggles to say something, but picks up the phone instead. It seems that she's lost to Tony's manipulative ways, yet a sense of relief settles over her – a paradox on its own. _Maybe_ that knot in her stomach has had a different origin; and just like that she gets a glimpse at the submerged part of the iceberg that is her subconscious. Perhaps she is worried because _Gibbs is not there. _As she waits for him to pick up, the sensation returns. _Or_ _maybe _she doesn't want to enrage her boss. Add to that Tony's pointed smirk and his feet propped up happily on the desk, and she is back to ground zero. To hell with that Spring Break photo. _To hell with my insecurities._ Lost in her mental pep talk, she is shocked to hear the low voice on the other end of the line.

"Gibbs? Uh – it's Kate. Hi."

She stifles the urge to leave her place altogether, and only shifts in her chair as not to face Tony.

"Kate. Hi –"

The way his voice trails off betrays no anger; rather uncertainty and something else which she has yet to decipher. First, she needs to give him a reason for her call, to tell him about Abby.

"I'm sorry, Gibbs. It's just – uh – we were just –"wondering_ where you are?_ No, this doesn't sound right. It's as if he is taking the day off to go to Disney. _And that would be Tony._

"Abby was looking for you. Are you coming in today?"

"No."

"Uh, well then. What should I tell her?" Damn them former Marines. Extraction of information, denied. Authority over phone line, established.

"That I'm not coming in today. Look, Kate –"

She doesn't have time to filter her next question.

"Why, Gibbs?"

To her surprise, the words are light, barely above a whisper, and there is no accusation whatsoever behind them. She just wants to know.

He's been getting impatient, but something about the tone of her voice, – open, concerned even? – keeps him from lying.

"I called in sick today, Kate. I'll see you tomorrow."

By this point, Tony has turned to playing WoW and can't possibly hear what she's saying.

"Are you okay, Gibbs?"

He's never taken a day off, which means it's serious. There is no façade to her concern now and Gibbs is struck by the gentleness of the enquiry. And by his subsequent revelation. He doesn't want her to worry.

"Yeah, Kate, I'm –"

A cough breaks his words and by the sound of it, he's definitely _not okay_, if not worse than that.

"Gibbs, let me –"

"DiNozzo there? Tell him I'm in a conference in Norfolk today."

"Okay." _Right._ Back to orders and compliance.

"I'll be fine, Kate. See you tomorrow, okay?"

He hangs up before she can hear his next cough, which shakes his whole body and leaves him gasping for air. _Great, coughing out my lungs now._ She must have heard the question in his voice. Will he feel better tomorrow?

"He's in a conference, Tony. Says you should stop playing that game – or he might slap your face next time."

Kate is a skillful agent and she is good at lying. But even the satisfaction of seeing Tony's guilty expression does not outweigh her anxiety. No, her worry is still there, unaccounted for.

**Thursday 1730:**

At the end of the day, everyone is out of the office far earlier than usual. The afternoon had passed in relative peace – no hot case demanding their attention – and aside from renouncing, _loudly_, Tony's sexist views, Kate had focused primarily on paper work. Anticipation, this is what Gibbs has always taught them and by now, she has internalized the feeling, having learned that if you're sitting at your desk idly, you're doing it wrong. But even "anticipation" has its borders. At the point where 1730 and "no work" meet, Kate leaves the NCIS headquarters with no shame, finally having the time to run some errands.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Here's the second chapter, as promised. Hope you like it!

* * *

**Thursday 1930:**

Home at last, yet she shouldn't be. And it's almost disturbing, the way artificial light mixes with the fading daylight, filling cracks and dissipating over surfaces in its last moments of potency. So accustomed to Gibbs' work hours, Kate is now recoiling from freedom. Now this, _this _is fundamentally wrong. At the thought of him, though, the sensation from earlier in the day returns, claiming her chest cavity and lodging itself between tissue and bone. The heaviness is literally making her sick. _But not as sick as he is. _Kate doesn't overthink it this time. Dumping two fully-loaded grocery bags on the kitchen table and grabbing her car keys, she leaves daylight to run its course, unrivaled, in the emptiness of her apartment.

**Thursday 2000:**

Impulsivity is one thing, doubt is another, and she has transitioned from the former to the latter. What is she even doing here? Standing in front of his door, fist frozen in time, like in a very bad action movie, which relies on slow motion for further dramatic effect. This indecision angers her, but the knock on the door that follows hardly offers any consolation. Fleeing is still an option and she is about to turn around and leave, when Gibbs opens the door, visibly surprised.

"Kate, what are you doing here?"

Uh, how do you explain something you yourself have no grasp of? So, when she speaks, her confidence comes as a shock to both of them.

"Checking up on you, Gibbs, what do you think?"

He doesn't say anything at first, but then his eyes crinkle at the edges, propelling a smile to his lips.

"Come in, Kate," his voice rumbles and she walks in, more concerned than not now that she's heard him speak. Not only does he sound like crap – though she has to admit, the low tone is pretty sexy – but his hair is a mess, too. It's as if he's been –

Shit. "Did I wake you up, Gibbs?" she asks, but it's more like an exclamation 'cause she is sure he was sleeping.

His smile grows wider at her obvious discomfort. "You could say that," he deadpans, walking back to the living room, where the couch has been turned into a blanket-y fortress.

Kate is not sure if he meant for her to follow him, but she does it anyway because he is acting weird. _Okay, weirder._ And it hardly has to do with his sickness. Right?

"Gibbs? How are you feeling?" There, if he doesn't snap at her now –

"I've been better," he murmurs, long limbs extending to a lying position from his current sitting one in a swift motion. Like always, a scarcity of detail.

She wants to press harder, yet settles for silence, smoothing down the creases of her skirt. Kate feels like an intruder, who has taken over the armchair opposite his couch. In her work clothes, she is no match for his casual slacks and loose t-shirt.

"Okay…Have you seen a doctor?"

"Nope."

He is amused. She is obviously uncomfortable and he is not making it any easier, but in his defense, this headache is killing him and TV is out of the question. Sleeping around all the day is not like Gibbs. So watching her get irritated is not a callous act; it's only for the purposes of entertainment.

Just as she is about to yell at him – so what if he is her boss, she can't let him trifle with his health – he puts her urge at bay, _for the moment._

"I called Ducky. He told me to take the day off, get some rest. Drink lots of liquids –"

"Good," she breathes, ruling it futile to ask for more information. Yes, he probably should have seen a doctor. But the very fact that he is lying down, instead of sanding his boat, hot coffee in hand, or you know, alcohol, shows that at least, he is following Ducky's orders. To some extent.

She is discernibly more relaxed now, no trace of a frown on her face, feet stretched out.

With one arm under his head for support, he is the one to be looking up at her, this time around. A flashback to their first meeting on Air Force One, where the roles had been reversed. The silence is comforting because they've discovered a whole new level of communication through tiny motions, the raise of an eyebrow, followed by a smile, reciprocated; it all makes sense.

Until a violent cough breaks this moment of calmness. Shaken by the intensity of it, Gibbs comes to a sitting position, but he is still struggling to catch his breath. It's like a domino chain; with each consecutive cough, the feeling of drowning intensifies, his eyes blowing wide open from the mere physical strain.

_Fuck. _Kate doesn't know what to do. It's on instinct that she sits next to him, on instinct that she traces soothing circles down his back, fingers pulling away when she touches – on accident – the exposed sliver of skin beneath the hem of his shirt. By then, he is flushed, yet finally able to breathe. She is the same color as him, but for a different reason, and while she tries to cover it with a remark, he beats her to that.

"Well, that was a good workout," he says, voice breaking at the end. Still, he musters up a smile after seeing her worried expression.

"Gibbs –"

Kate is about to give him a lecture. _It's okay not to be okay, Gibbs. Asking for help is what people do. _Instead, trembling fingers brush against his forehead, registering what she was already certain of.

"You're hot."

There you have it, _the punch line_, and it's one of those moments when everyone else is laughing and you are the only one not getting it. Kate is stunned to see his smile grow wider, to see it evolve into a hearty laughter. What did she –

_Oh. _"Funny, Gibbs. What I meant was, you have a fever. Have you taken any medicine? Do you have a thermometer? I'm going to call Ducky, okay? I – you'll be fine."

_So immature, Gibbs. _Because he is still grinning even after she bombarded him with all these questions. She can feel her blood rushing; undoubtedly coloring her cheeks crimson, with red tint creeping down the sides of her neck, too.

"Thank you, Agent Todd," he murmurs, ignoring her correction. His fingers reach to entrap her wrist in a loose hold, but she tugs her hand free.

"Gibbs, I'm serious. Lie down, okay? I'll be back."

To her surprise, he listens. Following orders is not something he does, but all jokes aside, he is feeling like hell, and it's starting to show. He's been trying to tone down the symptoms, maybe fool her even into thinking he is fine. But she's good, and she knows. And now, he knows it, too – he really doesn't want her to worry.

**Thursday 2100:**

So this is what Gibbs' kitchen looks like. Kate is surprised to find everything in perfect order: no dirty dishes clogging the sink, nor any dust-devouring objects on the table, for that matter. The cleanliness of a house not lived in, _of a man, married to the job, with the basement – his illicit lover –_

Enough. Ducky is not picking up and she is fidgety; not only that, she is also making up metaphors and it doesn't get worse than that.

"Hello?"

"Ducky!" she exclaims, a sense of _finally_ evident in her voice.

"Caitlin, is that you? What is going on?"

"I'm with Gibbs right now, Duck. He is not feeling well –"

"Oh, yes, Jethro is sick. I'm surprised he let you call me. You see, he was very unwilling to admit feeling unwell this morning. I told him, 'Jethro, you should take the day off,' yet stubborn as he is, he told me to mind my own business, so I thought –"

"Ducky," Kate's impatient tone breaks his speech.

"I'm sorry, Caitlin. How bad is it?"

"He has a fever, I'm pretty sure, and his cough is getting worse. Could you come over maybe?"

"I'm afraid not. But I'll tell you what to do –"

* * *

Following Ducky's advice, Kate goes to the nearest CVS pharmacy. After searching through his medicine cabinet, all in vain, and finding him asleep on the couch, she had decided that was the best option. The woman at the counter eyes her suspiciously when she makes her order, taken aback by Kate's urgency in asking for Ibuprofen and a very specific type of cough pills, whose name she has to read off of a note. Thankfully, she is in and out in no time, taking a moment to calm down before going back to his house.

**Thursday 2130:**

When Gibbs wakes up, it's not because he's had enough rest. On the contrary, he still feels terrible, partly because he is now painfully aware of the throb of his own heartbeat (Ducky would say it is natural – after all, blood pressure increases with an increase in body temperature.) Shifting from side to side, he can't find a comfortable position; his eyelids are heavy with sleep, yet he is unable to let go. Perhaps he should give up altogether. Propping himself on his elbows for support, he looks around the room, illuminated by the dim hallway light. It takes him a moment to register that something doesn't feel right, or at least, it's not like it used to be.

And then he knows, brain finally catching up to instinct. Kate is not there. She must have left after he fell asleep because the last thing he remembers is –

He doesn't remember much, only that she was there. Right? She was checking up on him? _Maybe._ But it could have been just a dream.

Sitting up, he takes a sip of tea, the warm liquid soothing to his throat. With the mug in his hands, for a moment he's not even cold anymore. The feeling doesn't last long, and he wraps a blanket tightly around his shoulders. Wait – how did his mug end up on the nightstand beside the couch? He is pretty sure he left it in the basement. Unless –

It wasn't a dream. She had been there. _He is not going insane._ A hint of a smile runs across his face, before the realization fully settles in. She had been there and now she's gone.

He is not hurt. No. Not even disappointed. Okay, maybe a little hurt. More so, he is angry at himself for feeling like she owes him an explanation, when she doesn't.

* * *

Without knocking this time, Kate walks into the house, paper bag in hand. Tiptoeing as not to wake him, she makes her way to the living room. It's difficult to read shapes and forms in the darkness but she recognizes the figure sitting on the couch. Broad shoulders, upright posture even in sickness. She hesitates before calling out his name, because she doesn't want to startle him.

"Gibbs," her voice is a lone call, a whisper, in the silence of the room. She turns on a light before walking up to the couch and sitting beside him.

No answer.

"Are you okay, Gibbs?" His expression is indiscernible. She has to persist, hold her gaze for a while, until he finally meets her eye. Even then, it is impossible to read him.

"Feeling any better?" Another whisper, accompanied by fingertips running down his arm, yet her touch is featherlike, insignificant, and he can't feel it under the protection of fabric.

"What are you doing here, Kate?"

He keeps a straight face, though she can feel he is holding something back. When she doesn't answer – because honestly, she is taken aback by the question - he murmurs, "You should go, Kate."

She doesn't understand. It is yet another order that is not to be challenged. His voice is distant and if she didn't know any better, she would think he was –

Fuck it. She _can't_ understand him.

"Fine, I'll go. Just – take this, okay? Ducky said it would help. I'm – feel better, Gibbs."

Handing him the paper bag, she brushes a hand over his shoulder. She doesn't meet his gaze because keeping a steady tone while she just wants to curl up and cry is strenuous in and of itself. Yes, she wants to cry because he is a bastard. Fuckin ungrateful one, too. Then why isn't she getting up to leave?

He takes the bag from her hands, taking out the Ibuprofen and another pack. He's an idiot.

"Kate –"

No answer. She doesn't even look at him, lost in her own thought.

"Kate –"

Feeling his probing gaze on her, she turns to face Gibbs, ready to snap at him. Were someone to paint her this very instant, they wouldn't miss the pursed lips, the expectant eyebrow raise, no.

"Thank you, Katie."

Agent Todd. Kate. Katie.

She is really trying, trying to retain the linearity of the curve. But an undisputed smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Was that hard, Gibbs?"

And now it's a full on grin, reciprocated. A headshake and the warm touch of her hands, enclosing his.

"—so you going to take these pills, or not?"


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I wasn't going to write another chapter, but you guys seem to want more (which makes me very happy), so there you go. I'll probably wrap this up in the next chapter. Enjoy reading + reviews would be awesome!

**Friday 0100:**

The sound of shattered glass pulls Kate out of sleep and she stirs fully awake in a few moments. The hallway light is on, as examined through squinted eyes, and it helps her adjust, helps her take in the surroundings. She's not at home, and doesn't she feel that in the strain of her neck, the tension in her right shoulder, which is about to – _crack. There you go, _and now she shifts onto her left side, but it's just as uncomfortable. Once, sleeping on the hardwood floor as a prospective college student had been thrilling, and now, sleeping on something other than her own, comfy mattress is, _ugh_, it's just bad. Why is she even _here?_

"_You can stay the night, Kate," Gibbs offered, after taking his medicine. There was nothing left for her to do, so she had started to leave, albeit reluctantly – green leather jacket draped over her arm, a hopeful 'Feel better!' announcing her departure. The words escaped his mouth, almost desperate. She turned back to face him. _

_Had it been a direct order, Kate would have given it a second thought, perhaps even put on her stubborn act. But this was not her boss, pushing her buttons with his calm, authoritative voice. It's Gibbs, a friend – for lack of a better word – who needed her right now, though he probably would never admit it outright. _

_Of course, Kate couldn't let this one go. Her mind was screaming payback, and who was she to deny reason? _

"_Stay the night, Gibbs? What about rule 12?" This was all wrong, she crossed the line; she could see it in his wide-blown pupils. Still, he chuckled, – unfortunately – which initiated another coughing fit, and before she knew it, she was sitting down next to him, whispering words of comfort. His every breath was like a firefly in a dim garden, impossible to catch._

"_I'm sorry, Gibbs, take a deep breath, hon," Kate ran a soothing hand down his back, biting the inside of her cheek to prevent further slip outs. Oh, fuck. He couldn't have heard her, his cough and all, but what if – _

_And that's a grin. Despite struggling to catch his breath, Gibbs murmured, "Couch is all yours, Agent Todd."_

Kate props herself up on her elbows, determined to examine the source of the clamor. Even in the haze of sleep, she picks up the scent of coffee, and _him_; it's his blanket that she pushes off her shoulder, which maker her shiver. No wonder, the window is ajar. She stumbles to the hallway, hands running up and down her bare arms, as if that will warm her. Rule #1, – she can have rules, too, okay – when Gibbs offers you a sweater, take it. _I'll be fine, Gibbs. I can always get another blanket. _Uh, no_. _Following the light, in a purely literal, non-death related way, Kate finds herself in the kitchen, and it's his presence there that inspires another rule. Rule #5 (no need for consecutive numbering), oversized T-shirts are great, but add some pants, and it's even better.

"Gibbs?" she calls out, tugging at the hem of her shirt, _his NIS shirt, _hoping that a prayer and a pull can elongate fabric, significantly.

He is standing by the sink, completely still, hands gripping the counter for support. She can't see his face. It's just the silhouette of a man, a budding somnambulist, and for all she knows, she might be waking him up. No answer.

"You okay, Gibbs?" Kate calls out again, keeping the distance because if he _is_ sleeping, she doesn't want to be in proximity when he stirs awake, when _she _pulls him out of his caffeine/medicine-induced dream.

No answer. Now she is worried, though she hates to admit it, and she crosses over to him in a hurry. _Damn, _she almost stepped on a shard of glass; in fact, it's a whole constellation with a capacity to scar, sparkling under the fluorescent light.

"Talk to me, Gibbs," Kate instructs, reaching up to touch his shoulder, but he doesn't seem to notice. Not until she is running her fingertips down the length of his arm, over cotton, to finally rest her hand on top of his. This, _well this, _finally catches his attention.

"I'm fine, Kate. A little dizzy, and you know –"Gibbs trails off, motioning to the tiles, before whispering an apology. "I'm sorry."

This is serious, way more serious than last night. Gibbs is apologizing, and _that's a sign of weakness. _Kate has never seen him vulnerable; it's both shocking and worrisome. Disturbing even, in a wow-I-totally-forgot-Batman-wasn't-superhuman-and- now-he-got-hurt kind of way.

She doesn't know what to do, because she wants to do everything and _anything_ to make him feel better, to get Gibbs back, and it all comes out in a rushed outflow of words.

"Gibbs – it'll be fine. You'll be fine. Don't worry about this, I'll deal with it. You wanted water? Let me get you some water. Your hands are cold. Are you cold? You still have a fever. Come on, take this –"

His touch startles her. What's more, it silences her – and he was aiming for that – as he places a hand on her lower back.

"Already did." To answer the question in her eyes, he adds, "Ibuprofen. Took another one." Speaking up is an effort in and of itself, so he has to limit the word count.

"Okay," she exhales, before taking a deep breath and looking up at him. He is tired, _exhausted,_ and she knows he hasn't gotten any sleep. Were it not for his chiseled cheekbones and piercing eyes, which she has sketched time and again, she wouldn't recognize the man in front of her as her boss, the one who thrives on catching bad guys and head slapping her co-workers. Unwillingly, she takes a few steps back, breaking contact.

"You should try and sleep, Gibbs. I'll take care of this," Kate murmurs, and to emphasize her point, she starts picking up shards of glass.

He can't spare any strength to protest.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Sadly, they belong to some other people. I also don't own the songs I've referenced in this chapter.

AN: I'm so happy you are enjoying this story. With this chapter, it is now complete. Thanks so much for the reviews/follows! Hope you like it! :)

* * *

**Friday 0200:**

"I'll be right up."

What was _that? _Kate is too busy picking up pieces to scold that voice, _the_ _impulsive bastard,_ or to figure out a way to backtrack from this impending disaster. _Hehe, up, I meant down, as in downstairs - if you need me._ She must be going insane, but Gibbs looks over his shoulder, already at the kitchen doorway, giving her a tired smile. Well, it's that bad: she feels no shame offering comfort, and Gibbs doesn't have it in him to deny it.

Kate lingers in the kitchen. The floor is spotless, even the tiniest of glass specks have found VIP housing in the trashcan. But she waits, and then some, before going back to the living room, a glass of water in her hands. She could try and get some sleep herself; pretend she never said anything, yet somehow this doesn't seem fair. Besides, it's almost like going to the Vatican and not seeing the Pope - that is going to Gibbs' house and not seeing his bedroom. If she feels any embarrassment at the thought, which by the way was much more pristine in her head, she buries it under water, downing the glass and leaving it on the nightstand by the couch.

* * *

Gibbs doesn't do day dreaming. It's inefficient and he was never good at being distracted anyway. In fact, he is against any form of dreaming that doesn't involve sleeping. Like now, for example. He is drifting in and out, out and in, of this semi-lucid state, between shivering under layers of fabric – _flannel, sweatshirt, comforter, blanket_ – and trying to keep up with the infinite frames, projected on the backside of his eyelids. It's a merry-go-round that never stops and he hates it; there is no purpose to his thoughts, just flashbacks, none of which make sense together. _You want me to say it? You need glasses, Gibbs. A bomb going off. What do you think you're doing, Gunnie? I don't want you to leave, Daddy. Kelly and he, sanding his first boat. Fornell drinking bourbon from his mug. DiNozzo! You sleep with a gun? Good girl._

"Gibbs?" her call is tentative and for a moment he struggles to match the voice to its proprietor. It couldn't possibly be a voiceover to his memories, right? He shifts onto his left side, looking over the shadow just outside the entrance to his room. His shirt is too long on her; it's the only thing he can make out, a white smudge against darkness. She is still, and waiting. Granted, she would leave, if he doesn't say anything or if he tells her to do so. Why would he, though? He left the door open.

"Come in, Kate," he breathes, but it comes out louder than he expected. It's only natural; in the silence of the room, each noise pops out, just like color on a black and white photograph. _There_, he is meeting her halfway – _and this would make for a great song lyric. _

She doesn't need more than that. Closing the door quietly behind her, she can't help but look around the room. _Damn, _Kate is the king of forty thieves, who has just entered the gold treasury. Once inside, she is thankful for the minimal light that seeps through the blinds, because it helps her take in the surroundings: a king-sized bed, two nightstands on either side, a breathing bundle of blankets, which must be Gibbs, a dresser. It's simple, yet classy. She can bet Gibbs was the one to carve detail onto the wooden furniture, _make something out of nothing. _Perhaps she could examine it better in the morning. Perhaps she shouldn't be thinking about being here in the morning. She is just checking up on him, again.

A little hesitant, Kate finally sits at the edge of the bed, half-expecting him to change his mind and kick her out, figuratively speaking (he is not that strong right now). After taking a measured breath – _inhale, exhale _– she lies down on her back, still keeping a significant distance between them. _If he changes his mind_, the door is near.

"Feeling any better, Gibbs?" she asks, but she knows the answer to that, doesn't she? He is not sleeping, after all. She shifts onto her side to face him, her arm sliding under the pillow to give her leverage. Kate never questioned the size of the bed, or the fact that there _is_ another pillow. But he is reading her mind; he is her mind twin – if he is _her _anything.

"What, you thought I've never been married," he rasps, eyes flickering with a semblance of amusement, _even now_.

_Good,_ he is somewhere in there.

Kate scoots closer, brushing cold fingers across his forehead. He leans into her touch, the only medicine for his fiery skin.

She bites her lip not to say anything, more so not to cry. _He should have seen a doctor._ She is losing patience – not hope – because the pills should have kicked in already.

"Close your eyes, baby," she murmurs, following suit on her own order. _Better. _She finds his hand in the space between them, and starts rubbing circles on the inside of his wrist. Kate might be helpless when he is hurting, but she can give him that, she can give him comfort.

The small gesture does seem to content him; his breathing is even now, no longer a syncopated tune of coarse inhales and rugged exhales. Kate can't help but sneak a glimpse at him and a shocking revelation ensues: Gibbs looks _peaceful._ She would pull away just to see if there'd be any change in expression, if a frown would crease his brow at the absence of her touch, but it would be cruel. Besides, there is haughtiness in the thought that _she _ is the reason he appears to be more relaxed. He could be sleeping, after all.

"Kate," Gibbs murmurs, pulling her out of her musings. It's a wonder she hears him, he is that quiet. Intimate even. _Oh._

"Mmm?"

This is all she can manage, _okay._ Her name is short, a breath, that's it. But he makes it bigger, he plays with the consonants. Honestly, she'd rather hear him say her name than hear it get announced if she were to ever win an Oscar. And that's a problem.

"I don't get sick," he whispers, but his voice comes out a little louder with her eyes closed. Amplification of the senses and such. It's a confession as much as it is a concern. So she extends the contact, slender fingers running up and down his forearm, lightly, but still _there._

"I know, Gibbs." A moment's pause, a deep breath. "You'll be fine, baby."

Then it's quiet again. It's just as this – whatever it was – never happened. And it's likely the closest thing to 'pillow talk' they'll ever get to.

Gibbs turns to lie on his back, then shifts onto his right side, facing away from Kate. He is slipping away – not only literally – but she moves closer, to the point that there are several inches between them. For some reason she is feeling bolder now. Kate places her palms flat on his shoulder blades, her thumbs rubbing away the tension from his sore muscles. Then her touch turns soothing, delicate, just a pencil sketch before the graphite shading – fingertips sliding down his back, creating shapes and forms, an art in itself. By this point the entire room is still, and the only thing audible is the sound of their breathing. _Good, _he is sleeping.

Without giving it much thought, she leans in, placing her lips on the back of his neck – it's not a kiss, _okay_ – to finally find relief; his fever's breaking. "Night, Gibbs," she whispers over his shoulder, before shifting away from him, and turning to lie on her other side.

"Night, Kate."

_Well, _he is awake alright.

**Friday 1000:**

When Kate wakes up the next morning, she is the only one in the room. Even without looking at the clock, she knows it's way past 0800; the sun wouldn't be so bright otherwise. She closes her eyes, murmuring words of protest, until she finally gets up. _Ugh, and that's a headache. _

Kate goes around the house, looking for Gibbs, but after a while it becomes clear he is not there. Nothing left for her but to get dressed and head out to work. Because if the clock in the living room is right, she is very, _very_ late. The bastard didn't wake her up.

**Friday 1100:**

"Kate!" Tony grins at her when she enters the bullpen. Like always, he doesn't leave her alone – he goes over to her desk and steals one of her pens, flipping it between his fingers.

"Gibbs is late again. Unless he is still in Norfolk. Hey, did you hear –" he trails off, though, after looking down at her. Tony can't decide if she is worried, angry or both. Before he can say anything about it (he can be nice, too) –

"DiNozzo!" In typical 'Gibbs' fashion, their boss appears right behind the senior field agent.

"Back to work, boss, got it," Tony mumbles, covering the back of his neck with a hand in case Gibbs decides to punctuate his greeting with a head slap. He doesn't. "How was Norfolk?"

Gibbs ignores the question, walking over to his desk, not even sparing a glance Kate's way.

"You're late, Agent Todd," he announces, looking at his computer screen, still avoiding eye contact as he starts typing , undoubtedly playing 'catch-up' and replying to emails.

Really now. _Really._ It's not like she expected orchids, or coffee, or – anything. But this, this is just, well, it's Gibbs. She is angry and she is just about to ask him to talk – _Break room, Agent Gibbs. Now. _– when his cough startles her.

She can't help it. "You okay?"

"Fine."

They seriously need to talk. And then – _you've got mail._

* * *

_Kate,_

_I didn't want to wake you up. You needed the rest. _

_Thank you for last night. _

_G. _


End file.
